Hoping, Praying, Waiting
by Elennare
Summary: Franz Hoffmann Bhaer recieves terrible news. Spoilers for entire series, specifically for Jo's Boys. Characters: Franz Hoffman, Ludmilla Blementhal, Emil Hoffmann.


_A/N: written for the Yuletide 2009 Challenge, for riordan10._

* * *

Humming, Franz Hoffmann adjusted his tie in the mirror. Rather more care than usual was employed, for he was to lunch with his future in-laws; and knowing Herr Blumenthal's attention to detail, he was desirous of making a good impression.

Satisfied with his appearance, he left his room and settled down to write letters as a way of passing the half hour of spare time until he needed to set out. He had barely set pen to paper, however, when someone knocked sharply on the door. Surprised, for he was not expecting anyone, he went to answer the summons.

A young man, barely out of his teens, stood on the doorstep, breathing heavily.

"Herr Franz Hoffmann?" he asked.

"Yes, that's me."

"Herr Hermann Bhaer begs you to come immediately to his office. Will you come, sir?"

"Yes, of course… I'll just get my hat."

Franz was puzzled by the summons. Why would his uncle be working on a Saturday, and why would he want Franz? Maybe it was some family matter… but then, why was he in the office? Unless… Uncle Hermann owned Emil's ship, the Brenda. Had something happened to it?

Without realizing it, he had speeded up, forcing the young secretary to run in order to keep up with his long strides. Herr Bhaer's office was not far away, and soon Franz was knocking on its door. The look on his uncle's face as he admitted him, the gentleness of the man's voice as he offered him a seat, convinced his nephew that his foreboding was right.

"Uncle Hermann, is something wrong?"

"I'm afraid so. I have just received word that the Brenda has been lost at sea."

Franz clutched the arm of his chair. Struck wordless, he could only stare into the older man's face, hoping desperately that his brother might yet be alive.

"The crew and passengers took to the boats. Emil was in the captain's boat, and its fate is not yet known." Hermann Bhaer continued. "One arrived safely, and brought the news, but they saw two others sink."

"Then he might have survived?"

"It's possible… but I wouldn't hold too much hope. The survivors fear his boat was wrecked when the mast fell." He laid a hand gently on his nephew's shoulder. "I wish I could give you better news."

Franz attempted to smile at the man who had helped his brother so much, knowing how hard this must be for him.

"We must have courage, Uncle, and pray that he lives. I must telegraph Plumfield. You will let me know the moment there is any news?"

"Of course. Will you have a drink before you go?"

It was a kind offer, but Franz did not wish to waste time. Taking his leave, he hastened to the telegraph office.

Waiting impatiently in the queue – it seemed that everyone in Hamburg had decided to send a telegraph today! – Franz attempted to word the message in his mind. He felt stunned, unable to think clearly. What words could suffice, to tell the uncle who had been like a father to his brother and himself? He must be clear, give as much news as he had, but without destroying their hope; his hope, the slender chance that Emil had escaped.

Finally, the chosen message was sent. "Brenda lost stop no news of Emil stop one boat survivors safe two lost stop pray for us love Franz". He could not find it in his heart to repeat what the survivors had said about the captain's boat.

As he stood outside the telegraph office, uncertain as to what he should do, a chiming clock nearby startled him out of his reverie. A good hour had passed since he had left his house, and what with the half hour of travelling, he would be very late for lunch. Ludmilla would surely be wondering what had happened by now, and the Blumenthal family was fond of his brother; they should hear the ill tidings. Waving to a passing taxi, he set off at once.

******

Herr Blumenthal frowned, staring at the clock on the wall. It was unlike Franz to be anything but punctual, yet he was almost an hour late. After waiting fifteen minutes, he had ordered lunch to be served, saying gruffly that if the man couldn't be bothered to arrive on time, he wouldn't eat. Ludmilla had been upset by this, and as time went on she became more and more agitated, convinced something terrible had happened.

A shrill ring of the doorbell made Ludmilla start up from her place, but at her father's gesture, she sat down to her barely touched plate again while he went to see who it was. It was little more than ten minutes later when Herr Blumenthal returned with his guest, but by now Ludmilla had grown so nervous that nothing could stop her, on seeing Franz standing there, from running over and flinging her arms about his neck. Her mother's shocked gasp brought her to her senses, and she stepped back, blushing.

Franz smiled at her – a strained smile, so unlike his easy gaiety that she knew something was wrong.

"Herr Blumenthal, Frau Blumenthal, Ludmilla, I must make apologies for my lateness. I have just received terrible news. My brother Emil's ship has been lost, and we do not know whether he has survived."

This sobering information moved all the family; and before he could say another word, Franz found himself settled on a sofa, with Ludmilla beside him, Frau Blumenthal offering him a myriad of drinks, and Herr Blumenthal, gruffer than ever, offering his condolences. All the family had met Emil, and were fond of him for his own sake as well as for Franz's. Their warm affection touched Franz, and the tears he had not yet shed sprang unbidden to his eyes, though he tried to hide them.

This was too much for Ludmilla, who had been doing her best to be strong, and she too began to cry. Tactfully, her mother murmured some excuse about getting something form the kitchen and slipped away, pulling her husband with her.

Left alone, the two young lovers embraced, crying together for Emil. It was a terrible blow for Franz, who loved his younger brother and would have protected him from anything; and Ludmilla wept as much for the pain she saw in her beloved's eyes as for the sorrow she herself felt for the devil-may-care sailor. What they said to each other then is no-one's business but their own; but from that hour of grieving came the knowledge that they could – and would – face every sorrow in their lives together.

The End


End file.
